


the space of a universe in inches

by pinesboi



Series: paint me in trust, i'll be your best friend [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Nicky in a skirt and thigh highs, dumbasses in love, edging for both the characters and the audience, porn au, watching your best friend's porn snapchat story to be "supportive"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesboi/pseuds/pinesboi
Summary: The part that has his breath caught in his throat, however, is the skirt. It’s high-waisted, a shade of light blue that Joe can automatically tell matches well with his eyes. The hem falls just above the middle of his thigh. Beneath it are a pair of soft white thigh-high socks, wrapping around the muscles beautifully. Joe wants to commit it to memory. He wants to draw it a thousand times over, wants to sculpt clay into a shape that can capture even half of the obscene curve of Nicky’s ass.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: paint me in trust, i'll be your best friend [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991737
Comments: 36
Kudos: 207





	the space of a universe in inches

Joe stares at his phone screen, mouth wide. There’s a good chance he’s drooling, not that he’s paying attention. He really, _really_ should be, considering he’s at the grocery store, waiting in line to check out. But his gaze is entirely fixed to the screen of his phone, where he’s got Snapchat open. It had just been idle scrolling, something to pass the time and occupy him while he waited. Of course, he Joe should have known better than to check _Nicky’s_ story in public, given the kinds of things he normally posted on there. But for some reason his brain had been off and he’d clicked on it anyway, and now Joe probably looked like an idiot in front of all the people in line.

Nicky didn’t have social media, not really. The only thing he had was a Snapchat, and that was pretty much only for work purposes and for sending Joe photos of whatever kind of bread he’d made that day. So the image that freezes him in spot and takes the breath from his lungs isn’t a surprise. It’s probably the most PG thing that Nicky’s ever posted for work. That doesn’t stop the way Joe’s blood all begins to run south. Because it’s Nicky, and Nicky will always do that to him, regardless of whether or not Joe’s dick knows that it’ll never happen.

It’s a short, looped video in front of the tall standing mirror Joe knows is in Nicky’s bedroom. Nicky’s face is halfway cropped out, but he can still catch the half-smile flung over his shoulder. His body is twisted, meaning that the lights play off the lines of his chest and stomach in a way that has Joe desperate to kiss his way down them. The part that has his breath caught in his throat, however, is the _skirt._ It’s high-waisted, a shade of light blue that Joe can automatically tell matches well with his eyes. The hem falls just above the middle of his thigh. Beneath it are a pair of soft white thigh-high socks, wrapping around the muscles beautifully. Joe wants to commit it to memory. He wants to draw it a thousand times over, wants to sculpt clay into a shape that can capture even _half_ of the obscene curve of Nicky’s ass.

Nicky’s _hard_ in them too, if the sight of the skirt alone wasn’t enough to send Joe into cardiac arrest. It tents the front slightly. It’s dirty, but it’s Nicky, so it somehow still feels so _soft,_ sweet almost. The video shows him riding the hem up ever so slightly with a delicate finger pulling up the fabric, just enough to display the fact that he hasn’t got anything on underneath it.

And then it’s gone. He stares at it long enough that the screen turns itself off. And he stares at it more, now seeing his own gaping mouth in the reflection. He is vaguely aware of how his dick has taken interest, twitching in his jeans. The image feels seared into Joe’s mind, the only kind of brand he’d ever want and the last he’ll ever need. His thoughts are racing- taking turns they probably _shouldn’t,_ considering Nicky is his friend and will only ever be such. But still, another image comes up in his head. One of deep purple-red bruises blossoming up Nicky’s thighs in a posey trail. The skirt ever so delicately skating over them as he moves through their apartment, giving Joe a bashful look over his shoulder when he catches him staring-

“Excuse me? Sir?”

Joe’s suddenly thrust from his fantasy, looking up wide-eyed at the clerk. They don’t look annoyed, just… concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Wha- Oh. Yes.” Joe hates how hoarse his voice is. “Yes. I’m- I’m fine. I’m good. Sorry.”

________________________________________

Nicky nearly jumps when he hears the door to the apartment shut. His baking show is on the TV, all flowery music and deserts that have Nicky’s mouth watering just looking at them. He knows it’s Joe, but he’d been very comfortable on the couch, and almost asleep, so the sound still takes him by surprise. He blinks a few times, slowly, to try to remember how to process information again. Joe is standing at the door, just past the threshold. He’s got two grocery bags slung over one arm, the other holding on to his messenger bag. For some reason, he’s staring at Nicky, wide-eyed in… shock? Nicky can’t quite read whatever is playing behind his eyes.

They stay still like that for a heartbeat. Then another. Nicky looks down at himself. And is suddenly aware of why Joe might be giving him that look.

The skirt’s not a new thing, really. This one in specific is- he’d just picked it up the other day, spotting the color and almost instantly falling in love. Joe has seen him in dresses, and corsets, and leather, and also in absolutely nothing at all. He knows, logically, that Joe would never take issue for wearing something that he thought was comfortable around the apartment. But Joe is also staring at him, looks close to dropping everything. Even if Nicky loves the skirt and knows it looks good on him, he cares about what Joe thinks about him. Stupidly. They weren’t dating, Nicky didn’t _need_ his approval for anything. Still. He shrinks a little into the hoodie- realizing a moment after that it was one of Joe’s.

Nicky swallows and searches for the right words to break the silence. “Hey, Joe. Successful shopping?”

“What?” Joe squints. Looks at him a second longer, then glances down to his hands. “Oh. Yeah. Long line at checkout, though.”

Still, neither of them makes any attempt to move. Nicky thinks he might suffocate in it.

“You’re. Wearing a skirt.”

Nicky feels himself blush- which is _silly,_ considering the things Joe has seen Nicky do. “Yeah. Just got it the other day.” His eyes flit down, searching any refuge they can find from Joe’s gaze. “I can change if you’re uncomfortable-“

“No.” Joe is quick to cut him off. “No, no need. You look good. It’s- it’s good.”

 _Fuck._ Nicky’s brain (and his cock) only registers the words “you” and “good” leaving Joe’s mouth. His chest feels all warm and full. Of course, Joe would be supportive. Joe, the man with a heart bigger and wider than any ocean. Joe, with his kind smile and his paint-stained hands and his beautiful curls and his mouth and his poetry. Joe, who he was absolutely, unequivocally, mind-shatteringly in love with.

Joe, who was straight.

Nicky turns his attention to the TV. Whatever had stopped Joe in his tracks suddenly lifted and he made his way into the kitchen. The sounds of cabinets opening signals that he’s gone to put away the groceries. Nicky absentmindedly plays with the hem of his skirt, trying to pay attention to his show. He doesn’t succeed very well. His mind keeps drifting back to that familiar, heartbreaking fantasy where Joe comes home and greets him by pressing him back into the couch with a kiss.

When he’s done with the groceries, Joe disappears into the bathroom. He’s in there long enough that Nicky starts to think he’s taking a shower, though he can’t hear the water running. He emerges some time later, face a little red and little water droplets collecting in his curls and his beard. Nicky’s only a little mad that they look like little diamonds among inky black waves. Still, he settles into his usual place next to Nicky, pulling out his sketchbook from his bag along the way.

Nicky’s eyes follow the line of Joe’s jaw as he yawns. He’s close enough that Nicky can smell his cologne- the kind that’s on the sweater he’s wearing, that he’d “borrowed” for specifically that reason. He tries to tear his eyes away, but it’s no use. There’s a bit of red paint just behind Joe’s ear. Probably from him tucking a still-wet paintbrush behind it. Every part of him wants to straddle Joe’s lap and bury his face in his neck. Instead, he makes-do with bringing his legs up and tucking his cold toes under Joe’s thigh. The skirt rides up a little, but he’s put on underwear since filming earlier, so he’s not worried about flashing him.

Joe glances up from his page, quirking up an eyebrow as he looks to Nicky’s legs. “Did you shave?”

“Yeah. It took me forever, since I haven’t shaved all winter. I’m _cold_ now.” Nicky pouts a bit, though it’s just to get that smile he loves out of Joe.

He gets it, bright and gleaming as Joe chuckles. “You know, you’d probably be warmer if you wore pants, love.” The nickname makes his heart jump into his throat.

“It’s comfortable, Yusuf. You should try it sometimes.” _Oh, what an image that was._ He grins. “At least my legs are soft now. Here, feel this-“

It is then that Nicky makes a very grave error. He takes Joe’s hand and pulls it onto his leg, just above the thigh-high socks. The touch is scalding, sets his nerve endings on fire as Joe’s hand begins to move. His fingertips brush over the skin politely, though Nicky catches a hint of one of his nails scraping closer to a sensitive patch and has to poorly disguise a full-body shudder as a cough. Nicky isn’t sure what exactly he was thinking, but all he knows now is that Joe is _touching_ him so softly, and if he were to just hike up the skirt a little more, if he were to spread his legs with enough room between for a body…

_Stop it._

Joe clears his throat. Nicky can’t make himself look at Joe’s face. “It’s nice. I’m glad you’re comfortable, Nicolo. I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

Every time Nicky thinks he couldn’t fall deeper, another banana peel appears on the stairs to trip him up and send him tumbling head over heels in love.

“I know.”

The silence is taken up by the TV, which they both start to pay attention to again. Nicky is almost able to forget Joe’s hand on his leg while he watches one of the bakers struggle with a sponge cake (“A sponge cake?” Joe says, criticizing. “Come on, it’s week five. You’d think he could handle a simple sponge.” “Yusuf, you burned the last cake you made”). Almost. But Joe starts to move his thumb, playing with the edge of the stockings. Fingers toying with the material, digging underneath it. Out of the corner of his eye, Nicky is sure that Joe’s mostly focused on the TV. He sighs, and resigns himself to his fate.

When the episode ends, Joe sets his sketchbook aside, hardly having touched it anyway with one hand on Nicky’s leg. “I should probably get up and make dinner. I can’t have you wasting away before me.”

Nicky’s not proud at the whine that escapes him. “Hold on, it’s still early. And my feet are finally warm again.”

“Fine. But I’m going to tease you when your stomach starts growling.” Joe teases. Then, his eyebrows scrunch together, nose pinching up. He leans toward Nicky. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Nicky can’t tear his eyes away from Joe’s this time. “Yes, sorry. I wanted something warm after filming.”

“Don’t apologize. It looks good on you.”

Joe’s voice has dropped to a whisper. He’s leaning so close now it’s painful. His hand is splayed over Nicky’s thigh, and all he wants is a bruise in the shape of that hand in the flesh, so he can poke at it days after and remember the feeling. He wants Joe’s hands in his hair, on his body. He wants to swallow Joe up whole so he has something to do with all this _love_ growing in his chest; a garden without any fruit. It would be so easy from here to kiss him, to finally learn the taste of his lips beyond honey-sweet words and sharp spearmint wit. For the briefest of moments, he thinks he sees Joe glance down at his lips. His finger’s twitch ever so slightly on Nicky’s thigh, resulting in a squeeze that draws all the air out of Nicky’s lungs.

Joe coughs. “Anyway. Dinner. You probably forgot lunch, didn’t you.”

He nods. Nicky can’t find any words. His tongue lays entirely useless in his mouth.

“That’s what I thought.”

With that, Joe excuses himself from the couch and moves into the kitchen, muttering to himself in Arabic. Nicky’s picked up a basic understanding since moving in with Joe, but he speaks too quietly and quickly for him to understand. He sends a traitorous message to his dick, which has already filled to half-hardness under the skirt, and presses play on the next episode. And, if he thinks about what it would be to have Joe take him while he wears the skirt and Joe’s hoodie, letting himself get marked up and claimed, well. Nobody needs to know.

**Author's Note:**

> look. i just think nicky would look good in a skirt, okay?
> 
> as always, comments/kudos are appreciated <3


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